Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Polly offered to help with Luke, but Idella told her she could manage. Sitting in the shade of the wagon, Polly worked on the sketch of the Indian mother and her newborn son. She wanted to remember them. The echo to form up the line traveled to them. Polly put her sketchbook with the rest of her belongings and went in search of Idella and little Luke.

  She found them returning from the river. “Would you like me to take Luke this morning?”

  “No, thank you.” Idella walked around her.

  Polly reached out and stopped her. “Idella, what is wrong?”

  Cold eyes bored into hers. “You’ve been gone for two days, doing who knows what with those men, and you’ve shown no remorse or regret at all. I don’t want you taking care of Luke any longer, Polly. And if it were up to me, I’d ask you to find another wagon to travel with, but Gustaf says no, that you are to stay. So stay you shall, but I no longer need your help.”

  Tears filled Polly’s eyes. “Idella, you can’t mean that.” The pleading in her own voice sickened her—never in Polly’s life had she been accused so unjustly.

  Idella jerked her arm away from her. “I do. Now, please, excuse me.” She picked Luke up and walked away.

  Polly followed at a slower pace. She stood off to the side and watched the train begin to form.

  “Here, Miss Polly. Papa Gordon said to give this to you.” Daniel thrust the animal skin bundle into her arms and then bent over and panted. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Polly stroked the hair on the soft skin. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

  “That’s all right, Miss Polly.” He looked up at her. “Are you crying, Miss Polly?”

  She felt the moisture on her cheeks and wiped it away. “Yes. But I’m fine.” She offered him a wobbly smile.

  “Is it because Papa Gordon doesn’t want to marry you?” he asked, still bent over and looking at the ground.

  Had she heard him right? Gordon didn’t want to marry her? “What?”

  “I heard him tell Mr. York and some other men this morning that he wasn’t going to marry you. Is that why you are crying?” He straightened up and looked at her.

  Polly’s head began to ache, and the tears flowed more freely. “No, Daniel.” She touched her throbbing temples. “I just have a headache. Thank you for bringing me this.” She hugged the bag to her.

  “You’re welcome. I’d better get back to Papa Gordon.” Daniel ran back the way he’d come.

  Polly felt as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Why did it hurt so bad to know that Gordon had no feelings for her? The sharp pain in her heart confirmed to her that she had fallen in love with the reverend.

  She dared not think why the men had demanded that he marry her. Did the whole train think they had been sinful? Dirt rose as the wagons pulled out. If she stayed where she was, no one would miss her. But if she stayed where she was, she’d also be disobeying Mamadele. How was she going to face everyone again?

  Polly shook her head to clear her thoughts and opened the skins. Inside were two pairs of moccasins. She realized that the Indian women had noticed her discomfort and offered her shoes that would ease her pain. One pair was ankle high and the other looked as if they would go up to her knees. When winter hit, the moccasins would feel wonderful.

  Give the mother as much control as possible, since there is only so much a new mother can control. Mamadele’s words filtered through her tired mind.

  If Idella didn’t want her traveling with her family any longer, she’d ask and see if she could store her things in someone else’s wagon.

  New shoes, new circumstances, she thought. Polly took her shoes off and wrapped them in the animal skin. She slid her feet into the soft moccasins and sighed. They felt heavenly. Then she hurried to catch up with the wagon train.

  Polly walked and thought about her situation all day. The Millers were an older couple and might have room in their wagon for her tent and few belongings. As soon as the train stopped for the evening, Polly walked to their campsite.

  Mrs. Miller was pulling the camp together when she arrived. Polly cleared her throat. When the silver head rose, Polly asked, “May I speak to you for a moment, Mrs. Miller?”

  “Of course, Polly.” She tugged on a wooden box. “Come and help me get this crate out, won’t you, dear?” She grunted as she pulled.

  Polly hurried to her side and took the majority of the weight and lifted the crate down.

  “Thank you. Normally Mr. Miller gets it down, but the men are having a meeting, and I wanted to start supper.” She lifted the lid and began to work. “What did you want to ask me?”

  Now that the time had come, Polly felt her palms get sticky. “Mrs. Bentz isn’t happy that the reverend and I were off alone, with Indians really, and she’s angry at me because… well, I’m not really sure why.” She clasped her hands together and inwardly fretted. The words just weren’t coming out right.

  Mrs. Miller nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard. The ladies seem to think the whole situation was improper. I’m sorry she is being so hard on you, dear.”

  Polly gulped down the knot in her throat. “There was nothing improper about it. We were kidnapped, asked to help with the birth of a baby, and then returned here. That’s it, that’s all that happened, Mrs. Miller. I promise.” So much for a new attitude, she thought as she fought the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.

  The older woman walked over and embraced Polly. “It’s all right, dear. Why don’t you come and stay with Mr. Miller and me? I could use your help, and I’ve missed good company.”

  “Really?” Polly sobbed against her shoulder.

  Mrs. Miller pulled back and lifted Polly’s chin. “That was what you were going to ask me, wasn’t it?”

  Polly nodded. Mrs. Miller’s eyes were a soft blue, surrounded by a halo of kindness.

  “Good. Now before you say yes, I think you should know. I don’t like gossip. I’m not above saying what I think, and I enjoy reading.”

  Why the older woman thought she needed to know that she enjoyed reading, Polly didn’t know, but she smiled. “Then we should get along nicely, except I don’t read a lot— well, other than my mother’s journal. But I enjoy sketching.”

  Mrs. Miller nodded. “Good. Why don’t you gather your things? I’ll let Mr. Miller know we have a new wagon guest.”

  “Oh, I won’t be any trouble at all. I only need a small space for my tent and other things.” Polly was fearful Mrs. Miller would change her mind.

  “I know, dear.” The older woman waved Polly off and returned to her crate.

  When she returned to the Bentzes’ wagon, Idella was setting up camp also. She ignored Polly as she pulled her things from the back of the wagon.

  Polly said to Idella’s back, “I’m staying with the Millers now, Idella. Should you need me, please come and get me. I will still help you with birthing the baby.”

  Silence hung between them. Polly picked up her things and walked away. Her heart ached as she realized that another new chapter had started in her life. She prayed that within the next few months Idella would come around and that she would be allowed to deliver the Bentzes’ baby.

  Over the next few months, the wagon train made its way over the mountains. Gordon’s heart ached for Polly. She kept her distance from him, and he missed her. He’d noticed that only a few of the women now befriended her, and the men seemed to hold him at bay also, at least when they were within seeing and hearing distance of their wives.

  Polly grew thinner with each passing mile. Most evenings he found himself watching her from the shadows. She and Mrs. Miller had become friends. Polly huddled in front of her small tent, under the skins her Indian friends had given her, sketching, writing in her journal, or sewing.

  One evening she looked up when Gustaf Bentz hurried up to her tent. He held little Luke in his arms. “Is time.”

  “Go get the reverend,” Polly instructed. At his swift nod, she hurried into her tent.

  Why did
she want Gustaf to come get him? Gordon hurried back toward his wagon. If he hurried, he might beat the other man back. He had just stepped into the firelight of his own camp when Gustaf rushed toward him. “Is time,” the man told him.

  “Time for what?” Gordon asked. He didn’t want Gustaf or anyone else suspecting he’d heard the man summon Polly.

  “The babe. Time to go.”

  “Daniel!”

  The boy stuck his head out the back of the wagon. “I heard.”

  “Take little Luke from Mr. Bentz; he can sleep in our wagon tonight.” He watched as Gustaf handed a sleeping Luke up to Daniel. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay close to the wagon and get some sleep.” He picked up his Bible and followed the father-to-be.

  When Gordon arrived at the wagon, he stopped and asked, “What can I do to help?”

  “You can get in here!” Idella yelled from the wagon.

  He looked to Gustaf, who simply shrugged. Some help he was. Gordon wondered if all the men in the wagon train were afraid of their wives.

  “Now!”

  Gordon hurried over the wagon’s tailgate and into the wagon. “I’m here,” he announced unnecessarily.

  Idella was sitting in a rocker rubbing her stomach. Polly sat on the floor beside her. Both of them ignored him as Idella rode out a wave of pain. Her pale, pinched face and the way she gritted her teeth told the story of her labor. When the pain passed, she looked up at him. “I want you here to pray.”

  “I can do that outside, ma’am.” He’d never even been in a birthing room, much less this close to a woman about to give birth.

  Pain flashed across her features again. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Sweat broke out on her brow.

  When the pain eased again, Polly wet a small rag and gently washed Idella’s face. He looked to her for guidance. “Idella, the reverend is right. He shouldn’t be in here just now. He’ll stand outside the wagon and pray, while your husband comes in here and takes the first baby when it’s born. How does that sound?”

  Idella leaned forward in her chair. “That would be nice. Thank you, Reverend.”

  The two men exchanged places. Gustaf stepped to the side, looking confused.

  Gordon turned just in time to see Polly indicate Gustaf should move behind his wife and watched as he began to slowly rub her back. He closed the flap and silently prayed for all those within the wagon.

  “Lower, please,” Idella groaned. “Are you praying, too, Gustaf?”

  “Do you want me to pray out loud or silently?”

  She answered, “I don’t care; just pray. I want this baby to live.”

  Gordon heard Polly’s sweet response. “I will do everything in my power to make sure this baby lives, Idella.”

  Gordon silently asked God to make this baby come fast. He realized this probably was not what Idella meant when she’d said to pray, but he’d never felt so uneasy in his life.

  Finally Idella said, “I know you will, Polly. I’m sorry I’ve been so cruel to you.”

  Gordon was glad he wasn’t in the wagon. He was sure the tension was so thick you could stir it with a stick.

  Polly answered, “It’s all right, Idella.” Her voice remained calm when she said, “I think it’s time to start pushing. Would you like to squat to have the baby? With your husband here, that might be the most modest way, but as you know, the choice is yours.” When Idella didn’t answer, Polly pressed on: “Idella, you need to make a decision. This baby is entering the world. I can see the top of its head.”

  “I’ll squat.”

  “Gustaf, would you continue to massage her back?”

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  A few minutes later, the sound of Polly’s singing filled Gordon’s ears. “Oh come, all ye faithful…”

  Gordon joined her. “Joyful and triumphant…” He admired the way their voices blended. Idella panted out the song with them.

  Polly stopped singing. Standing outside the wagon, Gordon had no idea what she was doing. A soft cry later, and he heard her say, “It’s a girl, Idella. A girl!”

  “Praise be to God,” Idella cried.

  Gordon held his breath and waited for more sounds. Soon he heard a soft smacking noise and then the baby cried. “Are we done?” he called.

  “No, keep singing. I see another head,” Polly instructed. “Gustaf, come take your daughter.”

  Gordon began singing again.

  “You are doing fine, Idella. One more push.” Polly’s voice sounded as sweet as honey to his ears. He admired the way her voice stayed calm as she delivered the second baby.

  “And a son for Gustaf,” Polly announced as she smacked the second baby’s behind.

  Gustaf’s rich laughter of relief filled the air. And then he said, “They are beautiful, Idella.”

  The sound of soft panting came from the wagon. “Thank you.”

  “What are you going to name them?” Polly asked.

  “We’re going to name them Jesse and Bessie. Jesse after my father, Jess. Bessie after my grandmother.”

  “Those are sweet names,” Polly said. In just a few minutes, Polly opened the flap and gestured to Gordon that he could come look at the babies.

  Idella looked up at him. “Reverend, can I ask you a personal question?”

  He leaned against the wagon and smiled. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  Gustaf helped Idella settle both babies into her arms. He hugged all three members of his family before standing upright again.

  Idella took a baby’s hand in hers and counted the fingers and then asked, “Why don’t you want to marry this young woman? She’s smart, kind, and not bad to look at.”

  “She’s too young for me, Mrs. Bentz. Let her grow up, and then we’ll talk.”

  Idella’s head snapped up. “I was talking about Polly, and you know it,” she scolded.

  Did he owe this woman an explanation? His gaze moved to Polly. She continued to clean up and pretended to ignore him. Gordon knew that he’d probably not get to talk to her again in a very long time, so he answered Idella’s question honestly. “Well, ma’am, I do love Miss Polly, but she doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Polly looked at him. Her cheeks turned pink, and her mouth opened and closed much like a baby bird’s.

  “How do you know she doesn’t love you? Have you asked her?” Idella seemed focused on the baby.

  Gordon searched Polly’s face. “No, I guess I haven’t. Do you love me, too, Miss Polly?”

  Polly’s gaze flashed to Idella and the babies.

  Idella didn’t look up as she continued examining her new children. “You’d better answer the young man, Polly. He may not ask twice.”

  He held his breath for her answer. Could she hear his heart pounding in his chest?

  Her voice came out in a whisper: “I do.”

  “What did she say?” Gustaf grinned down at his wife.

  Idella laughed. “She said yes!”

  Gordon helped Polly down from the wagon, making sure the flaps were securely tied behind him.

  He turned to Polly. “Did you mean it? You love me?”

  She nodded. “I’ve loved you since the day I saw you ride up on Rawhide, but I’ve been afraid to admit it, even to myself.”

  Gordon pulled her to the dark side of the wagon and enveloped her in his arms. She smelled sweet like mint. He hugged her close. “When we get to Oregon, will you marry me, Polly?”

  She leaned back in his arms. “Will you ever leave me, Gordon?”

  He shook his head. “Never.”

  “And do you understand that I’m a midwife, and my mothers will always come first in our lives?” Polly searched his face.

  “I do. Now will you marry me?” Gordon prayed she’d not come up with another question. He wanted to kiss her but wouldn’t until he had her promise of love and marriage.

  Polly’s full lips turned up, and her eyes sparkled. “I will.”

  Gordon did what he’d wanted to do since the first
day he’d met her. As he kissed her, he felt her shove into his body. He opened his eyes then pulled away from her. Beulah stood behind Polly, head down, ready to push her again.

  Polly laughed. “I think Beulah wants to be asked for her blessing.” She stepped out of his arms and waited, a teasing glint in her eyes.

  “What do you think, Beulah? Is it all right for me to marry Polly?”

  The mule brayed and then pushed Polly back into his arms, where Gordon planned to keep her forever.

  RHONDA GIBSON

  Rhonda resides in New Mexico with her husband. She writes romance because she is eager to share her love of the Lord. Besides writing, her interests are reading and scrapbooking recipes. Rhonda loves hearing from her readers!

  Murder or Matrimony

  by Pamela Kaye Tracy

  Chapter 1

  Megan Crawford knew more about keeping secrets than a woman her age had a right. Today she added one more. She crawled out of bed while a faint darkness still canvassed the too-early morning. Lately, nothing seemed to disturb Alison, but Megan needed to be a bit more careful as she eased over Rebekkah’s sleeping form.

  Sticking her nose over the wagon’s awning, she took a deep breath. This nightmare had been tame compared to some of the others. Still, sweat trickled down her chest and forehead. At best, she could claim an uneasy sleep.

  The lingering scent of last night’s dinner fires added a smoky edge to the cloying aroma of garden larkspur. As much as she hated leaving the comfort—and warmth—of the crowded pallet on the prairie schooner’s floor, she did enjoy the peace the predawn afforded. Squinting, she could just make out Independence Rock. Even Allie had roused long enough to add her initials. Megan figured only she and Larson Schmitt had stayed with the wagons while the majority explored the giant, gray, granite outcropping. She just couldn’t catch the excitement of the others. Mr. Schmitt no doubt stayed behind because it required effort to climb the towering rock; and as far she could tell, the man never made a move that might break him into a sweat.